In the morning I wrapped up warm to set off into Graz to do some tourism so that I would have time to have another look around the Christmas market in the evening. There was Glühwein, because it is cultural.
I’d had quite a slow morning and was in need of something to eat. Austrians like their breakfasts to be sugary and caffeinated, and after a little hesitation I found a small bakery near the Christmas mini-market of last night where people were sitting outside at bistro tables with blankets over their knees, soaking up the sun. I eyed the Viennoiserie for a brief moment but settled on coffee and a Butterbretzel — or so I thought — which turned out to be all Bretzel and no Butter. Still, I had had breakfast and a few minutes later, fortified by a quick breakfast Glühwein (it has fruit it in), I set off exploring.
Graz is Austria’s second-largest city after Vienna, and surrounded by mountains and hills to the north, east and west. It is home to four colleges and four universities, and birthplace to Erwin Schrödinger, him of the furry hypothetical murderous predator, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, him of the, er, oily fictional murderous predator. The city is overlooked by the Castle Hill, or Schloßberg, which has views over Graz and was once the site of a massive fortress. I started in the Volkspark, more by “ooh, what’s down here?” chance than design, then pottered about the old town and the main square and in at least one church where people were practising their carols before deciding I was going to go up to the top of the Castle Hill after all as I should probably do some culture.
I cheated. At the bottom of the hill my attentions were diverted from the incline to the entrance to the Schloßbergtunnel which links Karmeliterplatz where I was to Schloßbergplatz, from whence a lift to the top which will set you back about 2,30€. The extensive tunnel network below the Schloßberg was built during the Second World War to provide shelter from aerial bombardment to the inhabitants of Graz. Some of these, such as the one from Schlossbergplatz to Karmeliterplatz, are still accessible, but many are closed to the public or need tickets to get to; I learned for example of the existence of the Grazer Märchenbahn (Fairytale Express) only once my visit had ended.
The lift deposits its passengers quite close to the clock tower, which gives out over Graz proper with lovely views, even if they were slightly hazy. Also next to the exit of the lift is the entrance to the slide which will take you down to the Schloßbergplatz should you so wish.
Further up from the clock tower I found a couple of isolated market stalls selling Glühwein and sugary things, and then in the Kasemattenbühne — an open-air concert venue, Graz’s most popular, with a capacity of 1300 people –there was quite a large Christmas market which was very busy.
I felt I needed a reward for having struggled so hard to get to the top of the mountain (from the lift) and so treated myself to another Glühwein and Raclettebrot , essentially cheese on bread, which was nicer than it smelled. I like raclette — one of France’s more pungent birth-control cheeses — but it doesn’t actually smell particularly appealing when it’s hot, unless you’re cooking it at home and already slightly tipsy. Mine came sprinkled with chives and fried onions and was mighty tasty and not too expensive (about 5€, I think). I surveyed the sparkly tat for a while longer then decided I should head back down the mountain and find some more culture. The slide was very briefly a genuine consideration as a return-to-base method, but in my Glühweined state I decided it would be much safer to take the funicular to the bottom of the mountain.
The ticket for the 90-second ride costs a reasonable 3,10€ and the views as it descends are quite pretty. From the station at the bottom, it was a short walk back along the Mur to the Spielplatz Kapistran-Pieller-Platz where a multi-coloured festive train was transported delighted children round and round in circles while their parents were having a crafty fag and/or a Glühwein. I walked back to the Hauptplatz, bought a fridge magnet of the sparkly and verging on classy variety, then went on the look-out for more little markets.
It was starting to get dark.
Like Zürich, but without the pungent weedy smell, the Christmas market was not one great big affair in a square but many smaller markets dotted about the city waiting for the unsuspecting tourist to stumble across them and stop for a few minutes to sample its delights. Stalls were selling decorations, some were selling knitted things, others sold all sorts of spinny shiny noisy things, multi-coloured things, and some more massive pre-wrapped parcels of colourful sticky diabetes waiting to be thrust into the hands of a loved-one. One square even had a little stage and I witnessed a clarinet and guitar duo giving Irving Berling a seasonal outing while the assembled tapped their toes at stalls and added life to the whole experience.
Last night, things started winding down at about 10pm — the on-the-dot deflation of the Santas must’ve traumatised a couple of children — but after a long day of stomping today about I was quite ready for bed earlier than that, especially in light of an early train tomorrow.
I had another falafely wonder, packed, and went to bed.
